


for the dancing and the dreaming

by project_canary



Series: Take Me Home [7]
Category: Sideshow - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen, Western AU, also i didnt want to tag strip/dodger because like, basically a red dead au, theyre all cowboys, theyre together so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 09:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22453702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/project_canary/pseuds/project_canary
Summary: Criken gets his crew hopelessly lost and gets much more back than he bargained for.
Series: Take Me Home [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1572283
Kudos: 2





	for the dancing and the dreaming

_ Part 1: The Storm  _

The dress was her mothers’. It had sat buried in a closet since her passing last winter and Dex hadn’t the courage to go through her belongings until last week. She exhaled, running a hand over the bodice, trying to smooth some of the wrinkles. 

“You look fine.” Charborg stood in his borrowed suit, the sleeves almost too big. He unhooked his arm from hers and took a step forward, reaching over her head to conceal her face with the veil before handing her a bouquet of flowers. “It’s not really your wedding anyway.” He tilted his head to admire his work, nodding with satisfaction. 

“They don’t know that though.” Dex felt herself suddenly grow nervous, her heartbeat quickening as the cold steel of a gun barrel grazed her leg. Music began and she grabbed Char’s shoulders. “What if this doesn’t work?” Char scanned her face, carefully removing her hands from his shoulders. She watched as he adjusted the gun hiding underneath his own jacket. 

“It will.” The two wooden doors in front of them opened and Dex stood tall, watching the small group that filled the pews stand. It was too late to turn back now. 

_ Two weeks earlier… _

“We should just turn back!” Buck screamed over the snowstorm, his voice ripped from his mouth by the howling winds. Criken grimaced, his face hidden by a scarf pulled as high as it would go. He could barely see Bed and Tomato off to his sides, and could only hope that Buck was still there from his tired screaming. 

“It’s just a little further!” Criken was lost and knew it. He couldn’t tell the others, lest they completely lose their hope in getting somewhere safe before nightfall, meaning the certain death of all of them. But they really couldn’t be that far, the pass through the mountain  _ had  _ to be here. The snow was building on his saddle, and he knew that it wouldn’t be long before the horses couldn’t go any farther. His clothes weren’t providing even a semblance of warmth anymore, being soaked to the bone. 

“Give it up Criken!” Tomato yelled, one hand gripping tight to the mane of his mount, the other trying to block the snow blowing into his face. “Let’s just find shelter!” 

“There’s nothing else up here!” Criken felt hot panic rise in his throat as the landscape around them seemed to instantly get darker. 

“Criken!” Bed screamed, but it seemed distant and muffled. “Criken!” The world darkened completely, and Criken felt his eyes close. 

The last thing he saw was white. 

Bed and Tomato instantly stopped as Criken slid out of his saddle, watching in horror as he disappeared into the fresh snow, almost immediately being buried by the precipitation. Buck quickly stopped as well, dismounting quickly as he trudged through the snow. 

“Criken!” Buck’s voice disappearing in the squall, the snowflakes feeling more like icicles against his exposed skin. He strained and pushed through the heavy snow, Bed and Tomato dismounting as well, restraining their horses as they began to prance nervously. Buck felt tears prick in his eyes as he began to dig, the tears freezing before they could reach his chin. His eyelashes felt heavy with snow but he kept digging, finally reaching cloth. He grasped tightly, pulling with all his might. Criken’s limp body came free, his head hanging limp as Buck pulled him close, his arms wrapped around the cowboy as he tried to listen for a heartbeat. 

“Buck!” Tomato yelled, and Buck looked up to see a horse and rider standing in their path, his rifle drawn. His horse’s white coat seemed to blend with the snow, and the rider was covered head to toe in white and grey fur. As Buck stared, he was having a hard time distinguishing between man and landscape. Even his hat matched, and the only kind of color was from the patch of skin showing his dark eyes. 

“State your business!” His voice seemed to echo between the trees, and the accent he carried told the three that he wasn’t from here. At least not originally. None of them answered, and the man cocked his gun. The wind seemed to grow and Bed raised his arms. 

“We need help!” Bed yelled over the storm. “Our friend is…” Bed didn’t know what happened to Criken, but the man relaxed his hold on the gun, glancing to Buck on his knees in the snow, cradling Criken’s body and seemed to put it together. 

“Follow me,” He motioned, swinging his gun over his back as he urged his horse forward. This time it was Tomato that pulled his gun. The woodsman stopped. 

“You are going to die out here without my help. Probably before the sun is even gone.” Tomato kept his gun drawn as the man continued forward, reaching Buck and leaning over, grabbing Criken by the back of his jacket and lifting him into the saddle in front of him. With Criken for scale, they could finally see how large the man was. As he turned, Tomato finally holstered his gun, and all three remounted their horses to follow the stranger through the woods. 

The blizzard had worsened considerably by the time they reached the small farmhouse, but Buck could barely see it through his chattering teeth. The stranger dismounted, throwing Criken over his shoulder. Even with his booming voice, his words were almost lost in the storm. 

“Take the horses to the barn!” Buck nearly fell out of the saddle as he got down, trying his best to shield his eyes as he pulled his horse through the snow, following Tomato, watching the other man push the barn door open. They all entered, the quiet that four walls and a roof provided becoming starkly clear. They tied up the horses, Bed grabbing their bedrolls and Tomato searching the barn for hay. 

“Who do you think this guy is?” Buck grunted as he undid the saddle from his horse’s back. Tomato returned with an armful of hay, and the horses flocked to him for food. 

“Not sure. There’s always a handful of vagrants that live this far up in the mountains,” Tomato answered with an assurance that Buck felt Tomato had dealt with this kind of person before. 

“He could be a criminal from across the ocean, trying to escape prison,” Bed suggested as he shouldered the rolls of blankets. “Probably a murderer.” 

“Really?” Buck heard his voice crack, and Bed grinned. 

“Oh, more than likely,” Bed’s eyes grew with feigned fear of his own. 

“Either way,” Tomato shot Bed a glance of disapproval as he interrupted their spiraling conversation. “I wouldn’t trust him.” Both Bed and Buck nodded in agreement as they exited the barn back into the snowstorm. The walk from the barn to the house wasn’t that far, but they were thoroughly covered with snow by the time they opened the door. 

“Keep the snow outside please,” the man spoke from the dark as they entered, and they all tried their best to shake themselves off before continuing into the house.

It was warm, very comfortably warm, and Buck immediately felt himself relax. Tomato and Bed flanked him, Bed removing his hat and pulling down his bandana, Tomato hanging his coat over a wooden chair and unbuttoning the top of his flannel shirt. 

“Oh guys!” Criken stepped out from another room, wrapped in a huge, thick fur. “I missed you!” He took a careless step and his other foot couldn’t catch up. Buck couldn’t do anything as he watched Criken head towards the floor but was promptly swept up by the woodsman, who carried him like a kitten over to the fireplace. “Did you meet my new friend?” Criken’s voice was breathless and off, and Tomato furled his eyebrows, his hands curling into fists.

“What did you do to him?” Tomato growled through gritted teeth. The man gently placed Criken down before stoking the fire, the light casting huge shadows behind him. His broad shoulders were still covered in pelts, but his face was now exposed, showing a large, well-kept beard, his long, dark hair tied back away from his face, only small tendrils hanging down in front of his ears. 

“His body was shutting down, and I needed to heat him quickly.” He paused. “It’s painful, so I gave him a little bit of morphine to dull that.” Criken swayed gently on the floor, his face relaxed as he stared over at them, a faint smile growing. He looked up at the man, grabbing his arm. 

“Hey.” The stranger looked down, his eyebrows raising. “I love you,” Criken whispered loudly, and the man nodded. His eyes were much softer now that they were inside, an affectionate amber reflecting back the warmth of the fire. 

“You told me.” The man looked back to the three. “Please make yourself comfortable, I’ll put some stew on.” They all stood still, watching him leave the room before they exhaled. Buck immediately rushed to Criken’s side, ducking to meet his eyes. Criken’s face lit up as Buck sat, and he rested his hands on Buck’s cheeks. 

“You are the closest thing I have to a son, and I am so sorry I couldn’t be a better father.” Tears began to form in Criken’s eyes as emotion overcame him.    
  


“You’re not dying,” Tomato sighed, letting his bedroll fall as he collapsed on the couch. Criken turned to him, his eyes wide. 

“I’m not?” He sighed, his body swaying gently from side to side, as if he was on a boat. Bed joined Tomato on the couch, closing his eyes. 

“No, you’re just drugged out of your mind,” Bed explained, and Criken burst out crying. Bed jumped, thinking he did something wrong, but Criken jumped up from the ground to lay on top of Tomato and Bed. 

“You all take such good care of me,” he sobbed, and neither Tomato or Bed tried to push him off. They were more than welcome for the heat. Buck, still on the wood floor, wormed his way out of his poncho before joining the three on the couch. Bed lifted a section of a blanket for Buck, and his head nodded in exhaustion. Criken’s weeping quieted while his breathing steadied, and Bed guessed that he had fallen asleep, his head tucked between Tomato and himself, his body draped over Tomato, his legs over the edge of the couch. Buck had tucked himself on the other side of Bed, his head nestled into Bed’s shoulder, his arms across Bed’s chest. Bed was more comfortable than he had been in months, warmer than he had been in weeks. Before he knew it, he was also fast asleep. 

The woodsman reentered the room, a pot of soup hanging in his hands. He carefully hung it over the fire, giving it a stir before sitting back in a wooden chair covered in a brown pelt. As he sat, Tomato’s eyes opened to slits, watching the man with critique. 

“Soup will be ready soon,” he spoke, his voice much less gruff than before. 

“I’m not hungry,” Tomato kept his answer short. The man shrugged, leaning forward to stir the concoction. It was already beginning to heat up, and smelled wonderful. 

“My name’s Strippin,” the man coaxed, staring at the fire. “I’m not your enemy.” 

“I don’t know that.” Tomato stared over, daggers in his eyes. Strippin nodded knowingly. 

“I owed a debt, and instead of paying, I thought I could escape in the new world.” Strippin sighed. “They caught up with me, threw me in jail here.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” Tomato inquired, but Strippin ignored his question. 

“I was going to be hung, so I prayed. I never was religious.” Strippin reached up to his neck, pulling out a small silver chain, a cross hanging at the end. “And an angel saved me. She was in the cell next to me, told me she was imprisoned for killing the man that tried to marry her.” He paused, stirring the stew. “She was to be hanged as well, but told me that she had a plan. Her crew was going to break her out and she promised that I could go with her.” Another beat of silence as Strippin became lost in his own memories. “On the day we were to be hung, a riot broke out as she was on the gallows, just as she said, and the bandits broke my chains.” Strippin stuffed the cross back under his shirt. “One of the bandits raised his gun to the executioner and hen I looked back up, there she was, bag on her head, swaying back and forth. He had missed.” He closed his eyes, collecting his thoughts. “I hitched a ride on a carriage leaving and traveled as far as I could, eventually landing myself at the base of this mountain.” Tomato didn’t say anything at first, his gaze sliding away from Strippin. 

“I’m sorry,” was all he could think of, and Strippin smiled. 

“I’m going to find them one day, and make them pay for killing her. But no one else should die.” Tomato nodded, knowing that feeling of revenge all too well. 

“I might take some stew actually,” Tomato mumbled, and Strippin stirred the pot once more. 

“Good, because it’s finally hot.” He scooped out a serving and handed the bowl to Tomato, who took a cautious spoonful. 

“I’m Tomato,” he muttered, taking another sip of soup. 

“Nice to meet you Tomato,” Strippin smiled, standing as the fire began to wane. “Get some sleep, because when the blizzard leaves tomorrow, so should you.” He poked the wood with a strip of metal, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. “The mountain is no place for souls like you.” The room felt dark as Strippin left, and the weight of the day seemed to rush of Tomato, his eyelids falling. The warmth of his friends, the warm soup, the howling winds outside...he didn’t fight it, and when Strippin checked on the crew a few minutes later, he found them all fast asleep. 

_ Part 2: Beginner’s Luck  _

Criken awoke first, the drugs having worked through his system. He was shaking, sweating, the barest hint of sunlight streaming through the windows hurting his eyes. Panic filled his chest as he scanned the room. He didn’t know where he was, didn’t know what had happened, couldn’t remember what had happened. There was a snowstorm and then…

Something moved next to him and Criken felt his fears settle as a dreary Tomato raised his head. He rubbed the palm of his hand against his eyes, giving a big yawn as he stretched his arm high above his head. 

“How do you feel?” He asked, his voice rough and quiet from sleep. It was comforting, and Criken took a deep breath. 

“Good. I think.” Criken swallowed hard, tears pricking in his eyes as his throat contracted, feeling like he was swallowing pins. “Been better.” Someone else stirred on the other side of Criken, and Bed stretched, his eyes still closed. They both waited for Bed to settle again before Tomato spoke. 

“You weren’t doing good last night. Some trapper helped us.” Tomato pulled the blanket higher. “You were damn near frozen.” Criken didn’t respond, instead rubbing at his cold fingers, trying to fight the fog that had filled his brain. 

“The morphine high should be gone by now, but it’ll still be a few hours before you’re ready to ride,” another voice greeted as a man entered the room, a large knife held in his hand. Criken was instantly aware that he was missing his gun, and turned to Tomato for reassurance. “Strippin,” the man placed a hand on his chest. He was wearing a tan cotton shirt, darkened with age, a thick fur hanging over his shoulder. “I was about to go get breakfast, if anyone wanted to join me.” Neither moved as Strippin sheathed the large knife into his boot before pulling a seasoned bow off the wall. “Might go a little quicker,” he mumbled, and Criken could sense a hint of a joke in his words. 

“I’ll go,” Buck raised his hand, his eyes still half closed with drowsiness. He jumped up almost too quickly, stumbling as he made his way over the rugged hunter. Even Strippin raised his eyebrows at Criken and Tomato as they watched Buck shake the sleep from his bones. “I’ll be fine.” 

“Suit up then,” Strippin seemed to have wiped away all pretenses of doubt as he tossed Buck a coat a few sizes too large. “Don’t want breakfast smelling you.” Buck caught the jacket and made a face of disgust as he caught a whiff of the pelts. 

“How could they not?” Strippin laughed, shrugging the bow over his shoulder and grabbing a quiver full of arrows. Buck struggled as his long sleeves blocked his hands from performing any sort of basic functions, so Criken and Tomato watched as Strippin bent down, helping Buck tie the front of his jacket shut. 

“Hopefully we should be back soon,” Strip assured with more confidence than either Criken or Tomato felt, and he opened the door, letting in a cold morning breeze and a small flurry of snowflakes, reflecting in the early rays of sunlight. They exited, shutting the door behind them quietly, leaving the small cabin still and warm once again. Criken kept staring at the closed door as Tomato carefully tucked his head into the crook on top of Criken’s shoulder, shutting his eyes again. 

“They will be fine Criken,” Tomato whispered, rubbing the cold skin of Criken’s arm under his thumb. “Sleep a little longer.” 

The woods were beautiful this early, the air thin and cold against Buck’s lungs. There was a comforting stillness in the air, the fresh layer of snow not yet broken by the walk of animals. They hadn’t walked far, Buck following behind in Strippin’s large footsteps before he stopped, holding up a hand to warn Buck. Buck froze, watching Strippin gaze up at the sky. His breath came out in clouds of precipitation, disappearing before they could even reach the low tree branches. Strip reached up, examining a branch above his head. He turned back to Buck, a smile on his face. 

“We’re in luck today.” He didn’t allow Buck to respond, instead cupping his hands around his mouth and letting out a sharp call. It echoed out between the trees, and Buck strained his ears, listening for a response. 

_ Ki-ki-ki-ki.  _ The high pitched noise seemed to come from the sky, and Buck squinted to see a shadow descend from the clouds. Buck covered his head as whatever it was broke through the trees, feeling the breeze from its arrival hit his chest. When he realized he wasn’t dead, he carefully peeked through his fingers. 

“No way,” Buck whispered, more an involuntary reaction than an actual statement. 

“Hey pretty mama, haven’t seen you in a while,” Strip cooed, his arm extended and now displaying a very large bald eagle. He held out his other hand and the eagle pushed its head against it. “Was getting worried.” The bird tilted its head back and forth in curiosity, its large eye examining Buck with more attention than he wanted. 

“Is that your pet?” Buck gulped, Strippin still fully involved with the grooming of the bird. 

“No, she’s very much still wild.” And as if to show that, she snapped her beak at Strip, barely missing his fingers. He clicked his tongue. “That wasn’t nice.” The bird shook its whole body in response. “Ever hunted with a bird before?” Strippin asked Buck, who shook his head no in mute shock. “First time for everything.” The bird extended its wings, giving one huge flap as it took off from its perch on Strippin’s arm. He watched her leave, and then returned his focus to Buck. “How are you feeling?” Buck was hit with the question. 

“Uh, good I guess.” Buck responded, picking his way along behind Strip as they began to walk again. 

“How long have you been with those three?” Strip held back a branch as Buck passed through. He nodded his thanks. 

“Not sure,” Buck lied. “Long enough that I can trust them.” Strip gazed up, watching the eagle flying overhead. 

“Trusting can get you hurt, kid.” 

“My name’s Buck.” 

“Sorry.” Strip scanned the woods, continuing forwards. “Trust is a hard thing to find out here Buck.” He spoke with experience behind his words. 

“It’s more than that,” Buck argued, stumbling as the snow got deeper. “I...they’re...” Buck paused. “We’re like a family.” Strippin paused to look back at Buck, who was struggling even more to get through the snowbank. Strippin grabbed him under his arms, swinging him so that Buck sat on his shoulders. 

“I hope that’s true.” They walked a little further, until the snow finally thinned out and Strippin let Buck down. As they situated themselves, the eagle cried out above them. Strippin’s head snapped up, watching the direction she went. Without speaking, he handed Buck his knife and shrugged the bow off his shoulder. Buck took the hint to stay quiet as well, ducking his body as he followed Strippin through the trees. As they walked, Strip seemed to operate on instincts, his eyes following the bird above, his hand drawing an arrow from his back and easily notching it to the waxed string. Buck kept pace, well acquainted with tailing role. 

Strip held out his hand to block Buck as he stopped, then using the same hand to point down a hill. Buck peered through the trees and saw: a herd of deer, their heads all low as they searched through the snow to find the last bits of green grass hidden below. Strip pulled a handkerchief over his mouth and nose as he crouched even lower, ducking behind a tree even closer to the herd. He halted a moment, waiting to see if the deer had noticed him. 

Nothing. 

He beckoned Buck towards him and Buck tried to best to copy Strippin’s movements, making it to the tree with almost the same amount of stealth, the knife now much more comfortable in his hand. They watched for a moment, and Strippin seemed to choose his target. Time seemed to slow as Strippin moved out from behind the cover of the tree. He raised his chin slightly, seemingly smelling the air. Upwind, the whiskers on either end of Strippin’s bowstring swaying in the breeze. An advantage. He kneeled, the snow compressing under his weight and pulled back the arrow. Buck held his breath, feeling his heart beating against his chest in anticipation. They really only had one good shot before the herd would run, and they would lose their prey completely. Despite the heavy weight of the bow, Strip was motionless as he held the arrow at full draw. 

Buck had only ever hunted with guns, was very used to that explosion signaling the chase, and almost missed Strippin fire the arrow. His draw hand released and the arrow disappeared. And downhill, one of the younger bucks stumbled and fell. The rest of the herd picked up their heads and ran before the deer had even stopped moving, and Strippin was already on his feet, Buck quickly making his way down behind him, sending snow sprawling and rolling. Strippin had already made it to the fallen animal, its legs still barely twitching. He whispered something, stroking the white fur of the animal’s neck. 

“Say thank you,” Strippin’s voice was barely above a whisper, and Buck knew the significance of this kind of kill. 

“Thank you,” Buck bowed his head. 

“Shh,” Strippin breathed as he brushed the creature’s fur down and held out his hand, gesturing for Buck’s knife. Buck handed it over without a word, and Strippin finished the job.

Strippin was quick with the knife, and Buck helped as much as he could. They grabbed a length of robe and Buck helped him tie the buck’s feet together, making the job of carrying the animal easier. With a grunt, Strip threw it over his shoulder and gave Buck a nod in the direction they should go. Buck led, and soon enough they were out of the ravine and back at tree level. The sun had begun to touch the top of trees, melting the ice that had coated the branches during the night, sending drips of water down to land on Buck’s head and drip down his back. He raised his shoulders in discomfort and Strippin laughed. 

“That’s what the furs are for,” he grinned, taking a few larger steps to come even with Buck before draping a white fur scarf around Buck’s shoulders. Buck stopped, studying the lines on Strip’s face. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, and Strippin opened his mouth before stopping. His face changed quickly, his eyes narrowing as he raised his head to scan the forest behind Buck. His eyes were moving fast, his concentration on something else. Buck felt a shiver run up his spine and knew that it wasn’t water. The woods seemed to hold their breath for a second before Strip’s eyes widened and he spoke a single word, concern and fear trickling in to his voice. 

“Run.” 

_ Part 3: Don’t Fear the Reaper(s) _

Buck stumbled, his breathing short as he fought his way through the snow. He could hear Strippin behind him, but he didn’t want to stop and ask what it was that had spooked him so much. A gunshot echoed through the trees and bark exploded somewhere over Buck’s head and he answered the question. He ducked instinctively. 

“Buck!” Strippin yelled and Buck turned to see Strippin’s concerned face, his hand outstretched. Dread filled Buck’s stomach as he felt something wrap around his ankles and tighten. He barely had time to recognize the lasso around him before he was being dragged through the snow. When his impromptu sleigh ride ended he found himself nearly underfoot of a large bay horse, its rider holding the other end of the lasso taut. Buck was covered in snow, the cold seeping into his clothes. 

“Strippin!” He called out, reaching down to his ankles to try and free himself from the rope. A gun clicked as the rider watching him drew their gun, aiming it at Buck’s head. He stopped, raising his hands slowly above his head. The rider tilted their head in amusement, their eyes crinkling with a smirk hidden beneath their bandana. Another person emerged from the woods, hunched over, wearing a cape of white, the hood pulled tightly around their face. Buck felt his blood run cold as he realized that the person’s face was covered in a mask. A mask painted to look like a skull. 

_ Reapers.  _

Criken told stories about them, ruthless bandits that were motivated by revenge. But they were most known for their ability to never fail a bounty. If you needed someone dead, you find the Reapers. Strippin must’ve really pissed someone off to have the Reapers coming after him. Or maybe they were after Buck, but he figured that if that were so, he would already be dead. 

“Buck!” Strippin finally replied, and Buck twisted around as best he could to find where his voice came from. The masked Reaper had come to stand beside the rider constraining Buck, and Strippin was being pushed forward by another Reaper, his own knife pressed against his neck. His bow was nowhere to be found. The rope tightened even more as Strip approached, and Buck could feel the tension between the four of them. 

“Where are you hiding the rest of them?” The masked Reaper spoke, their voice scratchy but hateful. Strippin bared his teeth but didn’t answer, even as the Reaper that held the knife drew blood, the red stark against his neck. “Maybe that’s the wrong pressure point…” The Reaper concluded with a growl before jumping at Buck, drawing a bone knife and holding it inches from his chest. “Where. Are. They.” The Reaper repeated, patience draining from their voice. Buck’s breathing quickened as Strippin struggled even harder. 

“Don’t you dare hurt him,” Strip’s eyes darkened as he slammed his head backwards, knocking the Reaper away and freeing his neck. The Reaper stumbled but Strip was already moving, tackling the Reaper on Buck’s chest to the ground. They rolled, spooking the horse and the third reaper dropped the lasso. “Go!” Strippin ordered, and Buck kicked out his legs, untangling himself from the rope. He glanced at Strippin, who was fully engaged with the Reaper. Buck didn’t know what to do. “GO!” Strippin yelled again and Buck had no choice but to run. 

The snow seemed less restricting here, and Buck was able to make up a good amount of ground before the Reapers were able to begin their pursuit. 

“Find him!” Buck recognized the voice of the masked Reaper echo and screech through the thick trees, stumbling as he hid behind a larger pine, trying to catch his breath, his whole body shaking with adrenaline. 

The woods fall silent, and Buck holds his breath as he listens, straining to hear anything.  _ Crack.  _ A twig breaks behind him, and Buck screws his eyes shut, hoping that whoever it is doesn't find him. Another noise even closer and Buck took a step forward to try to escape before someone grabbed him from behind. Buck opened his mouth to scream but whoever it was covered his mouth and pulled him back against the tree. 

“Shhhh,” Strippin whispered, covering Buck’s shoulder with his cloak, slowly uncovering Buck’s mouth. “Are you hurt?” He whispered and Buck shook his head no. Strippin glanced around the tree, and Buck noticed the blood on his hands, and the dark stain on his shirt. “We have to move,” Strippin said, lifting Buck to his feet. Strippin ran and Buck followed on his heels. Buck waited for any sign of pursuit but they were followed by nothing but the rising sun. Buck didn’t even notice as they entered Strippin’s property, and almost ran face first into Strippin’s back as he paused to open the door. 

“Wow, you guys took longer than-” Criken began, adjusting his belt as Strip and Buck walked in, but Buck was already interrupting him. 

“The Reapers are hunting us through the mountains.” Criken froze, glancing between Strippin and Buck. 

“For real?” Tomato stood up from the couch, pulling his gun from his pocket. His face suddenly dropped. “Bed’s in the barn.” They all barely had time to turn to the door before it exploded inwards. Everyone dropped, hands covering their heads as the masked Reaper from the woods entered, Bed behind held at knifepoint. The Reaper had blood covering their mask, and as they entered Buck noticed they walked with a limp. The other ones enter right behind, their guns drawn. 

“You’ve made me ask twice now, and I hate to repeat myself.” The Reaper gripped Bed tighter, and he let out a whine as they pressed their knife close to his skin. “Where is the Governor?” The Reaper barked, and Strippin scrambled to his feet, pushing Criken and the remainder of his crew behind him. 

“I don’t know who that is,” Strippin kept his voice quiet and even, his hands outstretched to protect those behind him. The Reaper suddenly relaxed their hold on Bed, though their two goons kept their guns raised. They dropped their knife, sheathing it as they took a step forward, their mask tilting with curiosity. Strippin stepped back and they stopped, their gloved hands beginning to stretch out towards his face. 

“Sam?” The Reaper’s facade broke, desperation filling their throat. “They...they said you died…” Strippin’s arms relaxed as he bent down slightly, his eyebrows coming together as his face scrunched, examining the Reaper’s mask. 

“Who are you?” Strippin’s voice cracked, and the Reaper reached for their own face, pushing their hood down and slowly removing their mask. Strippin straightened up in surprise, his arms dropping to his sides. Buck, Criken and Tomato slowly poked their heads out from behind Strippin’s back. “Dodger.” There was doubt and astonishment mixed into his voice, and even the other two Reapers pulled down their bandanas. 

“Criken?” They spoke simultaneously, and Criken fully stepped out from behind Strippin. 

“Bree? Ruby?” Criken’s mood changed from terrified to excited as he ran over to hug the two women. “What are you guys doing up here?”    
  
“Hunting something,” It was Dodger that spoke as she turned to address Criken.

“Someone,” Bree corrected and Dodger shot her a look of contempt. “We heard his crew had gotten stuck in the mountains and went to investigate.” 

“Who?” Criken asked, but Bree and Ruby glanced at each other with apprehension. 

“My betrothed,” Dodger scoffed, venom in her words. “He’s a coal baron, a tyrant and a killer. He calls himself the Governor and when I was still calling myself Dex, he caught us.” Dodger paused. “I promised my hand in marriage if he would let my crew go.” She gazed up at Strippin. “I didn’t know what else to do.” Tears formed in her eyes as she turned away. 

“We can figure something out,” Criken assured, and Dodger sniffled. 

“I hope so.” She walked out the door, Bree and Ruby following. Criken peered back at Strippin, who seemed stuck, staring blankly at the space in front of him. 

“Okay, what was that about?” Bed asked, anger rightfully filling his voice. 

“She rescued him at the gallows,” Bed spun to Tomato, who was answering. “He told me.” Bed’s expression didn’t change. “He thought she was shot by the same crew that rescued them, and he’s been hiding in these mountains since.” Tomato shrugged, pulling his jacket tighter around his body. “Apparently she’s fine.” He walked to the door, his boots creaking as he hung at the door, his arms across the frame. 

“I wish they had at least knocked though,” Bed rubbed his arms, grabbing a blanket from the couch and wrapping it around himself before ambling himself over to stand next to Tomato. Bed paused, peering outside before resting his head against Tomato’s shoulder. Criken, seeing that Stripping would probably not be useful for a while, set himself to getting a fire going. Buck helped, retrieving firewood from outside before the three Reapers entered again, somehow looking much less menacing this time. Dodger avoided Strippin, who was now sitting on the couch and staring at the fire. 

“Need some help?” Bree offered, sheepishly holding up the deer that Buck and Strippin had taken down earlier that morning. Ruby also held out Strippin’s bow. 

“Sorry about the whole ‘trying to kill you’ earlier,” Ruby sounded gleeful, and Buck guessed that it was probably who she was. 

“No worries, it happens to the best of us eventually right?” Buck matched her enthusiasm, and Ruby laughed. 

“Right? No matter what, you always seem to find friends on the other side of the gun.” She grabbed Bree around the shoulders and pulled her into a hug. “That’s how I met this one.” Bree groaned but there was a genuine smile on her face. Tomato called for Buck and Buck scooted past the two women, tipping his hat with a graceful “Ladies,” before disappearing outside into the barn. Criken wiped his hands as he stood from his place in front of the fireplace. 

“I can take that,” he gestured to Bree and the deer, and Bree and Ruby followed him into the kitchen to dismantle the carcass. Bed, sensing the uneasiness in the room, stood quickly and made some kind of excuse about “needing to go visit his horse,” before leaving the room, still wrapped in the blanket. Strippin and Dodger were now the only two left, Strip sitting motionless on the couch, Dodger sharpening her knife on the floor, her back facing Strippin. 

The fire was crackling comfortably, throwing a good amount of heat into the room, and Dodger was glad for that. They had been almost a week in the saddle, and hadn’t had the luxury of making camp every night. Her leather fingerless gloves absorbed the heat well, and her fingers curved around the rock she was using to sharpen the blade, enjoying the warmth. There was a rhythm to the motion as she rocked back and forth, back and forth. Habitually, she began to hum. It was a song her father sang to her when she was little, when he would sit her in the saddle in front of him for early morning cattle drives. He sang it to both her and the cattle, calming them both as he herded them out onto the range.

She got through a verse before she realized someone else was singing the words. They were weak and quiet, but she knew those words by heart. 

“...From the pouted lips of a youth who lay, on his dying bed at the close of day…” She stopped, looking up at Strippin, who looked as surprised as she felt. He was still sitting, his broad shoulders hunched over, making him look small and frail. “I’m sorry, I…” Strippin mumbled, lowering his gaze. Dodger took a deep breath, pausing her knife sharpening. These kinds of things happen once in a lifetime, and she wasn’t going to mess this up again. Steeling herself, Dodger stood, placing the knife on the table. She wandered slowly towards Strippin, careful to not scare him as she approached. When they had fought in the woods there had been something feral about him, an unhinged, animalistic side that scared her. The isolation, the hunting, the clothes of fur. Layers to hide himself. She began to hum again, a little louder this time, the sound drifting through the cabin like a summer breeze. Finally she stood in front of him, his head lowered in defeat. She stopped humming, stretching out her hand, her fingers inches from his face. 

"Oh bury me not on the lone prairie, where the coyote howls and the wind blows free...” her voice shook as she tried to sing, the words flowing from memory. Her hand shook as she got closer, close enough that she could feel the heat from his skin. Quicker than a rattlesnake, he grabbed her hand, but there was no malice in the action. He stopped her from getting closer, pushing her hand gently away before releasing. 

“I’m so afraid,” He whimpered, his head still lowered. “I’ve lived like this for so long I’m afraid this is a dream, that I’ll awake and I’ll be alone again.” 

“Hey,” Dodger, whispered, bending down, trying to meet Strippin’s eyes. “Look at me, please.” Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes, her voice breaking. “I’m afraid too, okay? I thought you had died, that the one person I wanted to be free with was gone.” She couldn’t hold the tears in anymore, and they began to flow freely down her face. “And now I’m afraid you’ve changed, that you’re not the same person that helped me to my freedom, that you’re not the person I fell in love with.” Dodger let herself fall to her knees in front of Strippin, choking back sobs. 

“Yet grant oh grant this wish to me, bury me not on the lone prairie,” Strippin’s voice was rough and tired, and as Dodger sniffed and lifted her head she was met with Strippin’s eyes. He carefully reached out, his hand cradling her cheek, but not yet touching. He stopped, almost holding his breath. Dodger closed her eyes and leaned into his hand, grabbing his hand with her own, pressing it into her cheek. 

“Oh bury me not on the lone prairie, where the coyote howls and the wind blows free,” Dodger sang, her voice much more confident this time, opening her eyes to see the Strippin she remembered. Tears trickled down her face as she smiled, and Strippin wiped them away. 

“In a narrow grave just six by three, oh bury me not on the lone prairie,” They sang together, Strippin pulling Dodger to her feet. His hand, rough and calloused, grasped her own gently, his other hand wrapping around her waist. 

“Dance with me,” he beamed, and she let him lead her around the room, both of them singing and laughing as they stepped on each other’s feet and bumped into chairs. Dodger fell into the rhythm she remembered, falling into Strippin’s chest, breathless, then letting him lift her up as they spun. Finally he stopped, heaving with laughter and excitement. He looked happier than she had ever seen him, and softly, he reached up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. Stars shone in his eyes as Strippin gazed at her, his stare suddenly hardening. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

“Neither will we,” Criken stood in the doorway to the kitchen, flanked by Bree and Ruby. “We will figure something out.” He walked in, carrying a pot of something and placing it over the fire. “And I already have an idea.” 

“Please tell me it’s not as stupid as the last great idea you had?” Ruby rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, and Criken grinned at her. 

“Even better.” 

  
  


_ Part 4: Red Wedding  _

The table had been filled with drawings and maps, with chairs pulled up and a pot of stew cooling in the center. It had been a few hours since they had begun planning, and they still hadn’t gotten anywhere. 

“What if we-” Criken started for the hundredth time, but Dodger was already interrupting. 

“He’s never alone, he always has this entourage that follows him. They’re like a pack of vultures,” she spat the words like they were bitter. The fire had died down considerably, the light outside already fading. Bed suddenly stood, taking his bowl and ladling in another serving of stew. He almost made it clean, but a big splatter landed on the center of the map. He gritted his teeth, and the rest of the table groaned in annoyance. Tomato stood, ready to clean the spot but stopped, his hand hovering over the red spot. Underneath on the map was a small church, located in the nearby town. 

Suddenly it clicked. 

“Tomato, please before it stains my maps,” Strippin complained but Tomato shushed him. 

“I have something.” He quickly cleaned up the mess before grabbing a piece of charcoal, circling the church. “What if you just married him?” Everyone began to state their protests, but Tomato silenced them with a wave of the hand. “Listen,” he pleaded. “It’s going to be the only way to catch him off guard. He’ll think he’s won.” 

“Go on,” Dodger hummed in approval. 

“You have a big family, and they’ve been waiting to see you married,” Tomato gestured to the rest of the room, and catching on, Bed and Criken nodded quickly. “Criken could even be the one to marry you.” 

“He would have his guard down,” Dodger repeated, tapping the church again. “And we would have the advantage, we would be able to surround the church, make sure that no one bothers us.” 

“Exactly. Bed, do you still have connections to those gun dealers in town?” 

“Charborg?” Bed asked. “Yeah, he’s around.” 

“Good,” Tomato smiled. “We’re going to need to arm up.” He turned to Dodger. “The only thing left is going to be to send someone to tell the Governor the news.” 

Eventually it was Bree that volunteered, promising that she would disguise herself well enough that she wouldn’t be recognized. The rest of them began to prepare for the wedding. They had three days until the sunset of the full moon, the time they decided on for the festivities. 

“We’re going to need this to look genuine,” Bed mumbled, rummaging through his gear. “And nothing here screams wedding guest.” 

“Just find anything that looks a little nicer,” Criken sighed, picking through his own clothes to even find something clean. He held up an off white poet blouse, tilting his head to the side. “What kind of backstory are we thinking about?” Dodger shrugged, sheathing and unsheathing her knife nervously in front of her, staring straight ahead as the rest of the crew went through their belongings. 

“Anything that isn’t too suspicious.” She stopped, raising the knife to stare at her reflection in the blade. “Last thing we need is for him to figure out something’s up before we can strike.” 

“Well that rules out family for me,” Tomato chimed in, and when they stared at him with confusion he pointed to his hair. “Not a great resemblance.” Criken turned to face Dodger, his mind turning as he tried to find roles for everyone. 

“Maybe not…” Criken trailed off, pieces clicking as the plan came together. 

\---

Criken held his breath, waiting for the church doors to open. He gripped the bible tighter, scanning the crowd that was scattered through the pews of the small room. He wanted to reach up and loosen his collar, but didn’t want to show any outwards signs of nervousness. Besides, why would a priest be scared? His round-rimmed glasses helped to hide his face, and the man Dodger had called the Governor hadn’t seemed the least bit suspicious as he shook his hand earlier. And despite the off-hand comment about the strangeness of his betrothed’s family, he didn’t suspect them either.

Buck was playing Dodger’s younger brother, apprenticed to a blacksmith. They had outfitted him in some of Strippin’s older clothes, their largeness making Buck seem even smaller. Ruby played the role of her older sister, sitting arm and arm with Sput, a local cattle “farmer.” It turned out that Buck’s arm’s dealer had his own partner in crime who was more than willing to lend a hand. Bed and Bree sat as friend’s of the bride, Bree keeping her head low to ignore the Governor’s watchful eye. Criken explained that they were from the city (not specifying which) and both worked as journalists. Bed had worn the tan blouse Criken had stuffed in his suitcase, the neck pushing up his chin. Criken glanced sideways at Tomato, who held his own stack of papers, pushing a pair of glasses up his nose. Tomato was acting as the lawyer (a necessary addition, Criken had clarified to the Governor, if you want this union to be legal). They had only found one suit, so Tomato was stuck pulling the sleeves down and trying to make himself seem professional. 

On the other side of the aisle sat some of the Governor’s henchmen. They were dressed nicely, with suits made of costly fabrics and shiny leather shoes. There were only four of them sitting in the front pew, with two more guarding the inside doors and two outside. If their plan went right, Strippin would be able to take out the one’s outside, leaving only these few to them. And then there was the governor himself, standing proud in front of Criken, waiting impatiently for his prize. He tilted from side to side, his white shirt pressed clean, his hair slicked to one side. Criken fought the urge to just deck the man right now as the two wooden doors at the front of the church opened. 

The crowd stood and turned, watching as Dodger entered, her veil covering her face, arm in arm with Charborg. Charborg was playing her older brother, ready to pass off his sister to her new husband. As everyone faced away from Criken, flipped through the Bible, checking the gun hidden in the hollowed out pages. Dodger was the only one that watched him, her face expressionless. When she finally reached Criken, Charborg took both her hands in his, whispering something in her ear as he leaned closer. She smiled as he let her go, letting the Governor take her hand and lead her to the altar. 

“Friends and family,” Criken smiled, pushing down the fear in his throat. “We gather here today to join these two in a special union of love. Jeremiah and Dex.” He hated the words he was saying, but knew that he needed to buy Strippin as much time as possible. “We gather to celebrate their devotion, and their need to show their devotion to our all knowing God.” Criken closed his eyes, bowing his head for a moment, hoping the shaking in his voice wasn’t noticeable. He opened the Bible and began to recite stories by heart, trusting that the sweat on his brow didn’t seem suspicious. 

“Excuse me?” Jeremiah whispered, breaking Criken’s concentration. “Can you hurry this thing up? I’ve got somewhere else I need to be, and this thing is dragging out way too long.” Criken forced a grin. Even if this man hadn’t been on his shit list, his interruption would’ve put him there. 

“These formalities are necessary sir,” Criken strained through gritted teeth, flashing a look at his friends in the pews, looking more and more tense by the minute. 

“Whatever, let me just pay off the lawyer and we can get going then,” he shrugged. At the mention of his title, Tomato jumped, his papers shuffling. 

“I will not be bribed,” Tomato refused, his lip curling with distaste. The man rolled his eyes. Criken sensed pressure in the room and huffed. 

“Fine, I will ‘speed things up,’ as you phrased it.” With any luck, Strippin was in place, Criken prayed as he continued on with the ceremony. “As a formality, I need to ask if there are any objections to this union?” The church was quiet, with only the sound of fidgety shuffling. Criken coughed, repeating himself a little louder. “I said, if there is anyone that objects to this union, speak now or forever-” 

“STOP!” The wooden doors slammed open and everyone stood, spinning to face the stranger that had barged in. He was clad in wolf fur, his face obscured by a wooden mask painted like a skull. Strippin. The Governor’s henchmen had all drawn their weapons at the man, who stood tall in the middle of the aisle, blood dripping from his hand. Criken hoped that it wasn’t his. The Governor smiled, holding up his hand to stop his men. As he turned, Criken opened the Bible towards him, getting ready to grab his gun. 

“And who might you be?” Jeremiah calmly pulled out his weapon, cocking the gun. Strippin stood his ground. He knew that as soon as he answered all hell would break loose. 

“I’m the Reaper,” Strippin growled, and Criken held his breath. “And I’m here for your soul.” Strippin watched the Governor raise his gun and stared down the barrel. 

“Too bad I don’t have one,” The Governor snarked before his face twisted in pain and he dropped to his knees, a knife embedded in his back. Dodger stood over him, her bouquet torn apart as she stared back at Strippin. “Shit,” Jeremiah muttered before he fell all the way down, blood beginning to pool under his body as he lay on the steps to the altar. His henchmen, finally realizing what was happening, began to shoot, but Strippin was already moving, with the rest of the party returning fire. 

Bed had turned over a pew to use as cover and Criken and Tomato slid behind to meet them. Bullets broke off wood and zinged by their heads. 

“Lovely wedding Dodger!” Bree laughed as Dodger ripped the bottom of her dress off to give herself some more movement. “I really loved the reception!” 

“If we get out of here alive, I’m going to kill you!” Dodger laughed back, coming out of cover to return fire. 

“Then what’s my incentive to life?” Bree demanded from Ruby who shrugged as she grabbed a shotgun from Charborg. 

“Where did you even keep that?” Buck asked as she fired, leaving a huge hole in the pews across the aisle. 

“You know…” Charborg smirked, leaving them with more questions than answers. Finally the shooting stopped, and they cautiously stood, examining the damage they had caused. Five bodies. 

“Eight, counting the three I had to take down outside.” Strippin added, out of breath as he removed Dodger’s mask. 

“That did go better than expected,” Tomato removed his glasses, stuffing them in his pocket. “Let’s get out of here before the sheriff shows up.” They all nodded their collective agreement as they headed towards the door, Dodger heading up the rear. 

“Not so fast,” a garbled voice called, and the group reversed to see Dodger stuck in a chokehold, the Governor holding a blood knife to her throat. Blood dripped from his mouth, and Criken guessed that he had pulled the knife from his own back. Strippin drew his gun, his arm steady. 

“Let her go,” he ordered, but Jeremiah just laughed, spit and blood flying from his mouth. 

“You think I’d just give her up? After what you did to me and my posse?” He gripped her tighter, pushing the knife further into her skin. “She is going to die with me.” Dodger struggled, kicking out with her feet, but it was no use. “If you shoot me, you’re going to kill her too. So what’s it going to be?” Strippin’s aim didn’t falter, but he didn’t shoot either. “Smart,” Jeremiah gibed, taking a step back. “Let her live.” Jeremiah took another step back before a shadow obscured his face. He was only able to glance up before a screeching mass of brown and white feathers descended upon him. Jeremiah released Dodger and his knife as he tried to free himself from the bird, but it’s talons were latched securely into his face as it ripped away flesh with its powerful beak. Jeremiah fell back, wailing out in pain, but his calls faded to gurgles as the eagle finished the job. 

She let out a call, flapping her wings and taking flight, soaring back to Strippin and landing on his arm, rubbing her blood-stained beak against his cheek. 

“Get back up from that asshole,” Dodger panted, stumbling backwards. She grabbed at her neck, checking her hand for blood. Strippin took her arm, kneeling down, checking her for wounds. “I’m fine, I’m okay,” she giggled, pushing him away, despite the worry etched into his face. “Now we have to move.” Strippin took a deep breath and nodded, the bird still perched on his shoulder. 

“You ready Sput?” Charborg yelled, and a smile lit up Sput’s face. He opened the pouch on his hip, removing a glass beer bottle, the neck stuffed with a rag. “Everyone ready?” Char beamed, almost jumping up and down. No one moved, instead watching Sput intently. Sput pulled out a small box and removed a toothpick. 

No, Criken realized, his eyes going wide. Not a toothpick. Sput struck the stick against the box, lighting the match, a huge smile on his face. He held the bottle out, the match getting closer. 

“Run!” Char whooped, and this time everyone listened as Sput lit the molotov cocktail before tossing it behind him, the church erupting in flames as they burst out the main entrance. They watched as the fire engulfed the building, licking at the steeple as the blaze rose higher. “What?” Charborg shrugged, gesturing to Sput. “I’m the guns, he’s the boom.” 

“Next time, we’ll tell you if we need a boom,” Tomato gave Char a toothless grin, as he gripped tightly to his shoulder. Char got the message: try something like that again and I’ll kill you. Buck and Bed were still shaken from the escape, staring deep at the burning building. Criken tried to brush the dirt from his clothes, hoping that their horses hadn’t been scared that far off from the fire. 

“We’re definitely going to need to leave now,” Bree glanced to the direction of town, and Ruby agreed. 

“Just anywhere but here.” 

“Wait,” Strippin called as they headed to their animals. “Criken.” Strippin went red and looked down. “Can you marry us?” Criken glanced to the burning church to the threatening town. 

“Now?” 

“Yes.” Strippin was much more forward this time as he took Dodger’s hand. Criken rolled his eyes. It was the least he could do. 

“Do you?” Criken looked to Strippin. 

“I do.” 

“Do you?” He now faced Dodger, who broke out in laughter. 

“I do.” 

“There you go,” Criken raised his arms in exasperation. 

“That’s it?” Strippin asked in disbelief. 

“I can do whatever I want,” Criken answered, turning again to find his horse. The eagle finally left Strip’s shoulder and he was able to pick Dodger up, and she linked her arms around his neck. Strippin spun around, leaning in and touching his forehead against Dodgers’. Dodger pulled herself closer, closing her eyes to kiss Strippin. 

“C’mon lovebirds, unless you want to spend your honeymoon in jail!” Ruby hollered, and they broke apart, Strippin letting Dodger down so they could run to meet the others. 

Bed was holding two horses, and Buck grabbed his, swinging over in one motion. Criken and Tomato followed suit before Bed was able to mount up. 

“Sheriff! Six o’ clock!” Tomato warned, his horse beginning to get anxious and prance around. 

“Go!” Bree urged, already drawing her gun and pulling up her bandana. “We’ll hold them off!” They watched Dodger jump into her saddle, her skull mask already donned. They hesitated, watching the law get closer. 

“Get out of here!” Dodger waved at them. “We’ve have this!” There was an excitement in her voice, and Criken realized why. Char and Sput stood in front, guns aimed at the approaching cavalry, and Strippin pulled his horse alongside the girls, the eagle swinging around overhead. He cocked his shotgun, a mischievous smile on his face. Finally Criken and his crew turned, urging their horses forwards towards the setting sun. The fire of the church faded behind them, as well as the hoots and hollers of fighting and when the sun finally set, the burn was just a tiny dot in the distance. 


End file.
